


last summer

by orphan_account



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Gen, IT Chapter Two Spoilers, and i have zero motivation, ew. i'm a self indulgent kinnie, fuck using capital letters i'm sad, is this what you call angst?, it's short because it's 4 am and i am tired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 01:01:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20648630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: bill denbrough finds himself wondering how good of a friend he really is.





	last summer

silence. 

that was the monster that swarmed bill denbrough's mind. this monster was interpreted differently to everyone. to some, silence was a harbinger of happiness; favoured particularly for the peace it brought with it, silence was like fresh snow on christmas day, or the soft wool of a sheep. to others, silence was loud. like forty-five indignant beehives swarming through the air, or the terrible miasma of an ancient plague, vicious and unmerciful in nature. depending on the person you were, silence was a blessing or a curse.

bill denbrough was one of these people who did not find themselves a fan of this silence. he imagined this monster as some long, colossal centipede, with millions of legs and a wide, protruding jaw, leaking with venom. or maybe it was a giant tarantula, thundering across the fabric of his imagination, hairy and creepy. if silence could be considered a disease, the side effects would surely vary, as they did in everyone.

but despite all of this thinking, bill knew that personifying silence would not help. silence was all, and simultaneously, it was nothing. he turned over restlessly in his bed, warm, courtesy of himself. he could not stop thinking about last summer, which would hold an importance he was not aware of, twenty-seven years into the future.

the first who came to mind was georgie denbrough, and oh how he missed his little brother. the guilt that washed over him was sickening; his mere hobby in origami aflame after the death of his little brother, as if he had just gone ahead, lit the match, and spread the flame to the top of the paper boat and said instead, _go on, georgie. i'd llll-like to see how long you can l-l-last before the flame spreads to your tiny hands._

he would never forgive himself for that, he figured. what if he had gone out with him? what if it hadn't rained? what if, what if, what if. playing an imaginary mind game with yourself was not the key to bringing dead brothers back to life, which required necromancy, a power that bill, a mere thirteen year old, was utterly incapable of doing. all he knew was that his death was his fault, and despite all the evidence against the idea.... maybe georgie could still be alive. _just_ maybe.

the boy shakes his head, tossing over in bed once again. no, this was all his fault. he had basically killed georgie with his own hands, he had dragged his friends into this, made promises he couldn't keep, and, twenty-seven years later, he would later be responsible for the death of his two friends, stanley uris, who had bled out in a warm bathtub, and eddie, who would meet a grim end, skewered with an arm like a young child would do to with a stick to a small decomposing rodent. he, bill denbrough, was responsible for all of the trauma that he had brought upon his friends, and all of the death, all connected by a diagonal scar across their palms. he had punched richie tozier across the face, and failed to keep many promises, last summer.

bill found himself wondering, was this all worth it? was he worth it? he was a terrible friend, which could quite evidently revealed. why did anyone care for him? why did they cry for him? why did they feel for him? he found no meaning in all of the kindness they had shown him, because he simply didn't deserve it.

he figured that this was a question he was not ready to solve. so he shuts his heavy eyelids, and drifts into sleep, dreaming of many things, in which this inevitable future was not included in. which, of course, was for another day.


End file.
